


Revelation

by hypnoshatesme



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Dark!Michael, Desolation!Gerry, don't mind me I'm just indulging my need to write Aesthetics and Imagery, religious imagery & language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27836962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme
Summary: Michael's moment of quiet contemplation is interrupted.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm like, 99% sure I will never take this concept anywhere, BUT!!! it looked so vivid in my head I had to write it so I can function again.

Darkness was comfort. It had taken Michael some time to realise. Even when he hadn't known he was marked by the Eye, Michael had known there was something going on, just outside his reach. It was frustrating, especially as it became more and more obvious that he was being kept in the dark on purpose, questions skillfully avoided, research discouraged. 

It wasn't anything new. Ryan had been the same, another aspect of his life just out of reach of his understanding. He hated it, being kept from knowing what he craved, craving knowing what he was purposefully being ignorant towards. Unsatisfied, helpless. Blind.

It was terror, the dark he kept being kept in, just outside the light, in reach, so close Michael could see it, behold it. Never reach it. There was no salvation in the unreachable light, it wouldn’t pull him out of the dark that terrified him, the dark that swallowed every idea for an answer to questions he so desperately wanted to resolve. It was fear and dread, and Michael fought against it, tried to find his way out, towards knowledge. They pushed him back, played with him, doused him further, deeper into the dark that came with not knowing, with uncertainty, with questioning sanity. And then he gave up, and embraced the darkness he was being kept in.

Darkness was comfort and when he turned himself towards it, gave himself to it, it was willingly, a choice, reverent. There had never been purpose in knowing for him, nothing divine about a Watcher he was kept from understanding. Nothing for him to do, no way to help. Michael turned his back to it all as he walked into the church, a windowless building, light banished from the unlit inside. A place of worship, of peace, of dread, of fear. Michael smiled when he was inside, welcomed by others who had turned their back on light, the world as it was, rotten and bright. 

He never looked back. He had been kept in the dark all his life. It felt right to finally choose it for himself.

*

Gerry was done with the Eye and everything else, really. Done trying to do good only to be hurt and fucked over, go home, lick his wounds, get hurt again. And he knew that he wasn't really making a difference in the first place. Most of those marked he saved had their fate only postponed. For every book and artifact he destroyed, new ones were created. It was all pointless and Gerry was so fucking done with it all. He knew there was no escape. But he could still make a choice, one for himself. He was stuck, but not optionless. He wanted to make them pay, every single entity, watch them writhe in pain, watch them sizzle, watch them  _ burn _ . Good was an illusion, a lie, and he was angry, hungry for letting go, for giving into destruction. The Lightless Flame did not welcome him with open arms, but he didn't care. If needed, he would burn them down, too.

Gerry struck a match and set fire to that last piece of his old life, watched the bookstore go up in flames, orange, red, yellow, blue, books inside taking, feeding the fire that consumed them, and everything around the dusty paper he knew so well. Gerry could have laughed at the sight, relief, the ridiculous, heavy feeling the place still gave him years and years and  _ years _ after his mother died, finally gone, soon ashes. He was done and when the siren approached Gerry turned his back to what used to be his life, what he had finally destroyed. 

Because destruction was what he craved, had been craving for too long. He never looked back. The mark of the eye clung, but not for long. Not after Gerry showed himself more than willing to burn it off. He would burn them all, destroy everything related to what he had been forced to collect, to revere as a child, throughout his life. Gerry was done and he wanted to see it all burn, and revel in the destruction of what had destroyed his life.

*

Michael loved the quiet that came with the dark. He hadn’t always enjoyed being alone with himself in darkness, nothing to distract from his always-whirring thoughts. But they weren’t like that anymore. Michael didn’t worry about answers to questions he had been asking all his life, no longer wondered how he could help while being kept from all information he’d need to do it properly. It wasn’t his cause, not anymore. Had never been. His help was appreciated here, in the dark. He was told what he needed to know, and didn’t care about the rest anymore. What did any of it matter? Eventually, it would all be swallowed by darkness.

He was early, as usual. He liked being early to any of the meetings, to have the dark place to himself, to stand in silence, eyes open into nothingness. It had an exquisite quality to it, those moments before anyone else arrived, just him and that which had embraced him when he had been lost and confused, and so, so frustrated, nearly mad with all things unexplained in his life. Driven by a curiosity that hadn’t entirely been his, kept from the answers, the light of revelation. Kept in the dark which terrified him. He smiled. The light had clearly never been for him. He was at his happiest in the dark, dark was comfort as much as it was fear. One day, the rest of the world would learn to understand. Or rather, give up on understanding. Give themselves to the comfort of the dark, the dread of the unknowable hidden within. Worship and terror went hand in hand and, one day, people would understand. He would help make them understand, open their eyes to the rapture that came with the dark.

The door crashed open, sudden, and light flooded the dark room. The light was the red and orange of the dying sun, and Michael screwed his eyes shut against it, painful after so long in the dark. He did squint at the door after a moment - it was still too early for the rest to arrive if it was light outside, so who was it that forcefully opened the door and let light inside? - and there stood a black-clad figure, edges dissolving, seemingly on fire, back-lit by the last bright rays of sunlight. It was beauty, an eclipse made man, darkness alight, ablaze and Michael’s eyes went wide despite the sting of the light, and he felt like he should be falling to his knees in face of this orange light illuminating the figure, the man with his dark, wide eyes - mad, not like Michael’s in awe - black-painted lips pulled into a grin, a promise of finality, destruction, a force come to end it all, in violence, in all-consuming flame, the the beauty that was the light playing like fire in his raven hair.

Michael didn’t fall to his knees, and he pulled his mouth into a thin line, closing it again after it had fallen open at the sight. There was no beauty in light. This was an intruder.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess I wrote more...

It was dark in the crumbling building. A church at some point, Gerry guessed by the couple stained glass windows, but it had fallen into itself and the moon was high and bright above them where the roof was long gone. It shouldn't be as dark as it was. Michael had only just come to and had wiggled against the rope tying his wrists and ankles to the chair. And yet he seemed to already be absorbing the light around them. Fine. He wouldn't be for long. 

Gerry waited for him to look up, waited for that spark of recognition in his eyes and for Michael’s lips to part in what would have undoubtedly been a rude comment, before dumping the lighter fluid over his head. A grin pulled at his lips as Michael started, coughed and wiggled against his restraints with more urgency. Gerry knew his knots. They would hold.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" His eyes stared right into Gerry’s and there was no light to catch in them but somehow Gerry could still see the anger in them, seething as he spat out the words like he wanted to hurl them at Gerry. Gerry’s grin only widened.

He took his time to walk to Michael’s other side, took him in in the little moonlight that still reached them, caught in Michael’s wet curls and the furious lines of his face, the tension in his jaw. It was a good look on him. Not that Gerry had seen any bad ones on Michael since the day he had broken in that door. Michael had been pretty then, ethereal caught between the darkness of the room and the dying sunlight Gerry had let in through the door. His expression had been a different one then, confusion, maybe awe. It had settled into something not too unlike the fury on his features now quickly, but it hadn't quite been the same. 

They had crossed paths many a time since Gerry attempted and failed to burn that building down. Failed because of Michael. It was fine. Gerry had had his fair share of victories since and this would be his last. He had no time to deal with the constant disturbance of the cult. Or not the cult. Just Michael. This was personal, had been for a while. And it would end tonight. Somewhere, Gerry felt a pang of disappointment at the thought.

Gerry’s lighter slid into his hands and he lit it with unnecessary flourish. Michael rolled his eyes, but it didn’t hide the fact that his whole body seemed to tense up. Gerry leaned closer, self-satisfied, enjoyed Michael’s feeble attempts at getting further away from the small flame. The scent of the lighter fluid was biting, and Gerry brought the flame just a little closer. 

Michael’s face was more visible like that and Gerry thought it nearly a shame to burn something so beautiful. Beautiful but dangerous. Gerry still felt like there were dark spots in his vision sometimes. He could never blink them away fully, they'd just disappear after a while. It had been months. Part of him was starting to panic whether they would never go away fully. He wouldn't ask Michael if that was the case. He refused to. 

Instead, Gerry leaned in even closer, close enough to feel Michael’s quick breaths against his lips. Michael’s expression was still set in a mask of anger and he held Gerry’s gaze accordingly, though Gerry thought his eyes did look wider than usual. Grey like the moon above, but darker, like the sky at dawn. 

"You're the prettiest thing I've ever set fire to, Michael." His voice was sugar-sweet, smooth like honey and Michael looked startled for the shortest moment before he caught himself and went back to glaring at Gerry. 

But Gerry was satisfied, leaned back with a smug grin and brought the lighter to Michael’s soaked hair. It took immediately, of course it did. Gerry's flames wouldn't have needed assistance to consume whatever he wanted to see destroyed but he still liked doing this the old way occasionally. And it felt appropriate, for Michael. Maybe Gerry had been curious to see if it would flatten his curls. It had only a little and now they were aflame and Gerry took a couple steps back to have a better view. 

The fire spread quickly and soon Michael was the brightest thing in miles, body enveloped by flame. He watched, triumphant, while fiddling with his lighter. He had expected more struggle, more screaming. They usually screamed. Michael had seemingly frozen in his position, eyes wide, lips pressed into a tight line. Maybe shock? Gerry didn't know but tried to focus on the all-consuming flames, on how the light seemed to be returning to the room bit by bit as Michael burned. It didn’t feel as satisfying as he had hoped. Probably just the underwhelming reaction, he was sure.

Except something wasn't quite right. Michael wasn't burning. The flames were covering him head to toe and yet nothing seemed to be changing. They seemed to be dancing on him, consuming the lighter fluid without touching him. Gerry frowned at the realisation, squinted against the dark in case it was simply a trick of the light. Everything had gone so smoothly there was no reason for this not to work, either. Gerry was considering getting closer to examine what was going wrong when Michael suddenly straightened up in the chair. 

Gerry froze. Michael was  _ grinning _ . When he opened his eyes they were devoid of light, two dark irises amidst yellow flames. Except not. Michael stood, slowly, the rope securing him had burned through - the fire  _ was _ burning, then - and the flames enveloping him were still there, somehow, but they weren't. They weren't because fire shouldn't be lack of light, shouldn't engulf Michael in shadow when Gerry had set out to destroy him in an inferno. 

It shouldn't be yielding to Michael’s will, and Michael shouldn't be casually running a burning hand through his burning hair and Gerry's flames shouldn't look like that. Void, like all light had been sucked out of them. But they were still there, Gerry could still see them, dancing on Michael’s skin. It looked mesmerizing, unreal. Ethereal. Gerry didn't know when his mouth had opened, but he was aware that he was gaping as Michael approached, expression smug, clearly enjoying seeing Gerry’s shock. He looked like the sun, like a deity to worship or die refusing to do so, and Gerry knew, in some corner of his mind, that he should run, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from the sight, couldn’t stop trying to comprehend what he was seeing, couldn’t stop  _ looking _ because if Michael had been pretty before, now he was unbearably so and Gerry felt like, in that moment, he understood the idea of sun worship because louder than the urge to run was the urge to bask in this beautifully terrible sight, to give himself fully to the overwhelming feeling of awe it was making him feel. In that instance, Gerry understood the Dark, in all its terrible glory, and for a moment he felt like he couldn’t remember the light of flames.

Michael was close enough for Gerry to feel the heat, familiar, fire burning faster, higher. It was tangible as Michael leaned in. Gerry could taste it on his tongue, the flames, the ash, and Michael’s eyes were bottomless, devoid of light and yet still glimmering with amusement. Gerry could still read them, saw Michael’s grin clearly through the flames burning and yet not burning as they should. They were in the dark now and Gerry had forgotten such things as the moon, the concept of light, because all there was was Michael, and Gerry was at his mercy.

There was a hand, not touching, just hovering over his cheek and Gerry felt his skin grow hot. He was long past being able to burn, but he still felt the heat and it was comfort as it had been for most of his life. Maybe if Michael’s gaze wasn’t keeping him frozen in place, Gerry would’ve leaned into it. 

As it was, he simply stared, awestruck, at Michael’s face, burning with some kind of void flames. Michael’s grin settled into something more pointed.

“You’re the loveliest thing that’s ever set me on fire, Gerry.” His tone was a mockery of Gerry’s earlier, dripping honey of darkest gold, and Gerry held back a shiver.

Michael only grinned, satisfied, and turned around. Gerry stayed frozen in place as he watched Michael leave the building, flames seemingly dying down as the light slowly returned. The moonlight felt nearly blinding to Gerry when it hit his eyes again, but he didn’t dare to blink until Michael was out of sight and Gerry was left in the ruins of a church, squinting against the pale light of the moon and trying to interpret the quick beating of his heart.


End file.
